Long Live The King!
by Brenna Snow
Summary: The Mad King of Plegia was once a little boy who only meant well, but, as they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
1. The Peddler's Son

There had never truly been peace between the Theocracy of Plegia and the Halidom of Ylisse. It was said to have been that way since the the First Exalt vanquished the Fell Dragon during the days of the Schism. Yet, despite the tensions between the two nations, things had never escalated to war.

That is, until Exalt Albus XIII of Ylisse waged a crusade against Plegia, claiming that it was a heretic nation that deserved to be razed to the ground, and aimed to destroy every man, woman, and child who worshiped Grima.

It was a time of chaos.

* * *

Gangrel, a boy whose tenth birthday was fast approaching, meandered through the streets of the town surrounding Plegia Castle, taking in the sights of the unfamiliar district that he had found. The roads were cleaner than the slums where he and his mother lived, and less crowded than the marketplace. The people were dressed nicer, too.

Where was he?

Then Gangrel noticed that the signs above the shops had words on them. He couldn't read, but he could recognize some of the letters. His mother had taught him that much.

This must be a nice place.

"Hey, kid!" A guard approached him, leaving his post by the gate that Gangrel had walked through. "You lost?"

"Uh...no?"

He may not know where he was going, but Gangrel could remember how to get back to where he had come from. That meant he wasn't lost, right?

"Well, you look a bit out of place, anyway. You should probably head back to wherever it is you live."

Did he look out of place? Gangrel's red hair and eyes were the part of him that stood out the most, but he supposed his faded and worn-out clothes looked strange compared to what the other people nearby were wearing. He also didn't have shoes. That was probably weird, too.

"Okay, then..." he said, frowning as he turned to walk away from the guard. He had been hoping to do some exploring, but that would have to wait for another time.

* * *

The marketplace was busier than usual, filled with people wearing traveling clothes and moving in large groups. Some even had wagons. The commotion was making it difficult for Gangrel to find his mother.

"Trinkets for sale! Copper rings and bronze things!"

Oh, there she was!

Gangrel wove his way through the crowd until he spotted his mother, Farryn. She was standing beneath the awning of the bakery that belonged to a man who sometimes gave him the pastries that were too burned to sell. As usual, she had a smile of her face and was carrying a peddler's tray that held the jewelry and ornaments she had for sale.

"Gangrel, love, where did you wander off to?" asked Farryn once she saw him running toward her. "I was starting to get worried when I couldn't see you anywhere."

"A nice place," he said, smiling. "The signs had words on them and everything!"

Farryn smiled back at him, adjusting her tray so that she could ruffle his hair. "They did, did they? What else did you see?"

"Not much. A guard told me to leave as soon as I got there." Gangrel frowned. "Mum, do I look weird?"

Farryn gave her son a confused look. "What's this about?"

"The guard said I look funny." That wasn't what the man had said, but it was what Gangrel thought he meant. "So do I?"

"Love, you've got fire in your eyes...and on your head, too," said his mother with a soft chuckle. "Not many people here have that, but it suits you just fine. It also makes it easy to see you when there's so many people around."

Farryn always made a point of complimenting her son's looks and would often say that she was "plain" in comparison because her hair and eyes were brown. But Gangrel thought his mother looked just fine. Sometimes he even wished that he looked more like her.

"But what about my clothes?" asked Gangrel. "They're full of holes!"

"I've done my best to patch them up," said Farryn, frowning. "But I suppose you'll need new ones soon enough. And shoes, too. I couldn't do anything about it when you outgrew your last pair."

Gangrel's eyes lit up. "I'm going to get new clothes?"

"Yes." Farryn went back to holding her tray with both hands. "But first I need to sell a few more things. I'll be here a while yet, but you can go home now and help your aunt with dinner."

"Okay, Mum!" he said, giving her a quick hug before darting off.

* * *

Gangrel's pace slowed as the street he was running down became narrower and dirtier, the buildings tall enough to cast shadows and barely let in any light. He had to watch his footing or else he'd step on something sharp, like broken glass. This was why he preferred the marketplace.

He came to a stop outside a drab little shop with a sign that his mother had told him read "Annette's Curios." It was the only shop in the area with words on its sign. The others just had pictures.

The shopkeeper, Annette, was Farryn's closest friend and she was his aunt of sorts who shared her loft above the shop with them. While she was a bit strange and sold random things that didn't seem useful, she was nice, had hair the same colour as his, and loved him almost as much as his mother did, so he loved her too.

The shop was cramped and dusty and stacked to the ceiling with who-knows-what, but Gangrel quickly found Annette seated behind the counter, scribbling in a ledger.

She looked up as he walked up to the counter and gave him a warm, welcoming smile. "Hello, little one. Where's your mother?"

"At the marketplace," replied Gangrel, glancing at the ledger. Most of what she had written were numbers, which he understood about as much as letters. "She sent me home early."

"And, like a good little boy, you did as you were told," Annette said, laughing. "Better than you roaming around on your own, though. Things've been getting hectic in this city lately, what with all the people coming in from the countryside. Won't be long until all the lodgings are filled up."

Was that why the marketplace had been so busy?

"Why are they coming here?"

"Haven't you heard? The Ylisseans are attacking." Annette became more serious. "Their King, the Exalt as they call him, has gone mad."

"Mad?" asked Gangrel, tilting his head to the side.

"Yes, mad. He declared war on us because most of us Plegians worship Grima." Sighing, Annette shook her head. "I always knew revering that horrid dragon would bring this nation trouble..."

Grima... Many people worshiped the Fell Dragon, but even Gangrel knew that few people actually believed that it existed. And, regardless of whether they believed or not, they had to worship it, or else the Grimleal would punish them. That much he knew, too.

Gangrel didn't know whether he believed in Grima or not, but he knew that his mother did.

"Dragons are real," he remembered Farryn saying. "Most have hidden themselves away or travel the world while pretending to be human, but they are real and they deserve our respect. Even Grima, but you must respect him out of fear."

Between the Grimleal and Ylisse, Plegia was going to be in trouble no matter what its people did.

"Will the Ylisseans come here?" asked Gangrel, scared.

"The brave soldiers of Plegia are fighting them off as we speak," said Annette, smiling in an attempt to comfort her nephew. "Ah, but don't worry your little head over it." She reached over the counter and smoothed down his hair. "I'll close up shop soon, so you can head upstairs without me."

"Okay, Auntie…"

Gangrel walked around the counter and went up the stairs that lead to the loft. It was a large room with a sloped ceiling. There was a hearth surrounded by cooking utensils at one end of the room. At the other end, there were two pallets, one for Annette and one for Farryn and Gangrel. In the middle of the room was the low table where everything from eating meals to his mother's jewelry-making happened.

Even though there wasn't much to it, it was the only home that he had ever known, so he liked it.

* * *

Later that night after dinner had been made and Farryn had returned home, Gangrel, curled up on the pallet beneath a blanket, drifted in and out of sleep while his mother counted the coins that she had earned that day and talked with Annette. Their voices were low, but he could still hear them, and he could tell that his mother was unhappy. It must have been a bad day.

Although they lived with Annette, Farryn preferred to sell her wares independently even though her friend had offered many times to work together with her. Farryn didn't want to be a burden on the one providing them with a home. Annette, however, insisted that she was just stubborn and needed to learn how to ask for help when she needed it. This was something that they often argued over when they thought that Gangrel wasn't listening.

Regardless of who was right, Gangrel decided that he wanted to help his mother however he could. She deserved to be happy.

* * *

While roaming around the marketplace the next day, Gangrel found five copper pieces and one silver piece on the ground. It wasn't much, but if he kept it up, it could eventually be enough money to pay for something. Like clothes. If he was able to buy his own, then his mother wouldn't have as much to worry about.

He was fairly certain that his mother's sales were doing poorly because of how many people were seeking refuge from the war that Annette had told him about. Few of them had money and most were concerned with surviving more than they were about buying pretty things. It wasn't their fault, but it meant bad things for him and his mother.

Putting the coins into his pocket, Gangrel slipped away from the crowds and up the street to the district he had found the other day. If he timed things right, he could sneak past the guard and explore a bit more. Also, maybe he could find more coins.

* * *

Gangrel returned home with his pockets full of copper and silver pieces. Not only had he found more of them, but some people outside the shops in the district he had been exploring had given some of them to him. They had done so while saying things like "what a poor thing you are" and "here, get yourself a bite to eat with this," but he wasn't going to complain. Money was money.

"Ah, there you are!" said his mother after he entered the loft and closed the door behind him. She was in the middle of making a bracelet. "What have you been up to today?"

"I went back to that nice place I told you about. And look! I brought home something you'll like."

He walked over to where she was seated, knelt down, and emptied his pockets. Coins clattered against the wooden table loudly. However, instead of being happy, his mother was upset.

"Gangrel..." said Farryn, her voice low, "where did this all come from?"

"I found them."

"What? Where?"

"Most of it was on the ground, but some people gave them to me, too," explained Gangrel, his smile shifting into a frown. "I just wanted to help..."

"Oh, love, you don't have to do that," said Farryn, shaking her head. "Money might be tight right now, but we'll manage..." She looked at the coins and sighed. "But since you went to the trouble of finding this, I'll put it all to good use."

Gangrel beamed at her, and she smiled in return.

"I didn't want you to ever have to do something like this..." Farryn pulled him onto her lap and hugged him. "I went through having to beg and scrounge up money however I could after your grandparents lost everything and I had to live on my own. It was hard. I just wanted you to grow up to be an honest man."

"But I'm being honest," said Gangrel. "I told you what I did, didn't I?"

"That you did," said Farryn. "Just promise me that you'll leave the money matters to me, alright?"

"Alright, Mum," said Gangrel happily.

* * *

Unfortunately, it was difficult for Gangrel not to worry about his mother.

Fewer people were buying Farryn's wares. There were days when no one would buy anything at all. Also, someone had tried to steal the coins she had on her while she was walking home from the marketplace one day, but she fought them off. It was a close call, though.

Meanwhile, Gangrel was still trying to think of ways to help that didn't involve looking or asking for money. Around and around he went, thinking in circles but unable to come up with something. It was annoying.

What could he do?

Oh...that could work.

Gangrel looked through the small collection of special things that he kept hidden in a box inside one of the cupboards. The most special thing of all was a red stone that his mother had given him a few years ago. It was bigger than his palm and he could almost see through it if he held it against the light. It also used to belong to his father.

"Gael gave it to me just before he left," Farryn had said when she had handed it to him. He remembered her smiling as she spoke, but she had also sounded sad. "He couldn't promise that he'd return, so he wanted me to have it so I could give it to you."

"Where'd he go?"

"I don't know. Faraway, I'd imagine. He was an adventurer, that man."

Gangrel didn't know what kind of stone it was, but he figured that it was valuable. Maybe if he traded it he could get enough money to keep his mother from worrying? That was what he hoped.

But that plan was shot down right away.

"Please, love, I told you not to worry, didn't I?" Farryn asked, giving the stone back to her son after he had presented it to her with his idea. "And I could never imagine selling your stone. It's too important."

"Why?" asked Gangrel, confused. It was pretty, but he didn't know anything else about it that would make it so important.

"Your father said it was special. Magical, even. He hoped that you having it would keep you safe."

Gangrel frowned. "How can a stone keep me safe?"

"I don't know. But, then again, I'm not very familiar with magic. If anyone would know, Gael would have…"

There it was, that wistful smile his mother had whenever she mentioned his father.

Gangrel couldn't remember his father, but Gael had apparently been around when he was a baby. At least that's what his mother had said. Either way, he couldn't remember so it didn't matter to him much. It was hard to miss someone he didn't know.

But he wouldn't say that out loud. It would make his mother sad. So, instead, he put the stone away and went back to thinking up a plan.

* * *

"I have a job for you, little one."

"What is it, Auntie?"

Since he didn't want to accompany Farryn to the marketplace or be by himself in the loft, Gangrel was spending time with Annette. It was a slow day and few customers had come into the the shop. It was so boring that he was thinking of having a nap beneath the counter.

"Care to help me tidy up around here?" Annette, duster in hand, stooped so that she could see him on the floor and gestured over the counter, toward the stacks of things in the shop. "It's a lot to do by myself, so I figured I'd ask you. And so it doesn't feel like you're doing any old chores, I'll be paying you."

"You will?" asked Gangrel as he crawled out from his hiding place.

"Between you and me, I know that your mother's been sick with worry about money lately, but she's been too thickheaded to ask me for help," said Annette, smiling. "But...I don't think she can argue against you doing some honest work in exchange for honest pay. It'll build character."

Gangrel snatched the duster from Annette, eager to get to work. "Where do you want me to start?"

Chuckling at his enthusiasm, she said, "Dust what you can reach and I'll clean what you can't. Then I'll get you to sweep the floor."

"Okay!"

As Gangrel went about dusting the shop with Annette, she brought him up to date about what was happening in the castle town.

"The King isn't allowing refugees into the city anymore," she explained as she dusted one of the upper shelves. "People with nowhere else to go have had to set up camp just outside the walls. They say it's a real mess out there."

"The Ylisseans are still in Plegia?" Gangre frowned. He had been hoping that things would get better soon, but it sounded like they were getting worse.

"Yes, sadly." Annette shook the dust out of her cloth and want back to cleaning. "The Grimleal has an entire legion of sorcerers at their beck and call, so I don't know why they haven't sent them out yet."

Gangrel didn't know much about war, but he knew that magic was an important part of it. Mages were powerful and could kill a lot of people on their own. And as scary as they sounded, he agreed with Annette. He didn't want the Ylisseans to get any closer to them.

* * *

Farryn reacted much better to hearing about Gangrel helping out Annette than she had about him looking for coins in the dirt.

"How responsible of you, love," she said as she prepared stew for dinner than night. "I'll have to find a jar or something so you can keep your money in it."

"But I don't want to keep my money for myself, Mum," said Gangrel. "I want to give it to you!"

"And you're still as headstrong as ever…" Farryn sighed and set down the knife that she had been using to cut up vegetables. "Why is this so important to you?"

"I want you to not be worried anymore." Gangrel pouted at his mother from across the table. "You're always worried and it makes me worried and I want it to stop."

Farryn shook her head and went back to what she was doing. "I suppose I should count my blessings and be thankful that my son is so generous, shouldn't I?"

"Yes," said Gangrel, smirking.

Surprised by her son's response, Farryn laughed. "Very well… In thanks, I should give you your birthday gift right away. Go and take a look in the sack by our bed."

Curious about what it could be, Gangrel got up and went to their pallet to rummage through the leather bag that she had mentioned. Inside, there was a set of clothes and a pair of shoes. All of it was new and unworn.

"Do you like them?" asked his mother from across the room.

Running back to the table with the bag clutched to his chest, Gangrel said, "Thanks, Mum! I'm going to wear everything tomorrow."

The smile on his mother's face made him even happier than his new clothes did.

* * *

A resounding _bang_ woke up Gangrel and Farryn during the middle of the night. His mother shot up and peered through the window while the boy groggily rose out of bed. Light, bright and angry, was coming in from outside and casting harsh shadows along the walls. It scared Gangrel.

Fire?

Looking to the side, he saw that Annette's bed was empty. She wasn't in the loft at all. That meant she was either downstairs or running one of the strange errands she sometimes did after the sun went down. Not having her there made him feel even more scared.

Silently, Gangrel went to look through the window with his mother.

As he feared, the light was coming from some nearby burning buildings, but that was not the only thing he saw. In the air, facing off against a group of wyvern riders, there were warriors atop flying horses. Pegasus knights.

The Plegian Army had failed to keep the Ylisseans away.

"We need to leave," Farryn said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your aunt should be downstairs. She knows the secret paths in this city better than I do and can lead us to a safe place to hide."

"But…" Gangrel said, unsure of what to actually say.

"We'll be fine, love," said his mother, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Now, come on."

Grabbing the dagger that she kept hanging on the wall beside the door, Farryn led her son out of the loft, down the stairs, and into the shop.

His mother was rather mousy, but at that moment she was stronger than he had ever seen her before. She was ready to fight. It made him feel safe.

* * *

As Farryn had said, Annette was downstairs, armed with a spear, and was ready to lead them out the back door.

"The backstreets are our best bet for avoiding the soldiers," she explained as she locked the door behind them. "They're a headache to navigate if you don't know where you're going and there are plenty of hidden entrances to the underground passages beneath the city. We can hide there."

They dashed through the alleyways and backstreets that ran throughout the castle town. Such a route was usually unwise at night, but, at the moment, it was much safer than taking the main roads. There was no way that an Ylissean soldier would bother to search such an out-of-the-way passage.

At least that was what they had hoped.

A war priest, dressed in blue and armed with a battleaxe, lunged at them from out of the shadows, shouting something about Naga and the Exalt as he aimed to cut them down.

Gangrel froze in terror, unsure of what to do, but Farryn and Annette didn't hesitate. Using her spear, the shopkeeper blocked the soldier's strike while his mother stabbed the man in the stomach with her dagger.

Unfortunately, that wasn't quite enough to stop the war priest.

Backing away, stumbling because of his wound, he freed his battleaxe from Annette's spear and swung down again, almost catching Farryn on the shoulder.

But before the war priest could attack again, Farryn backed away and Annette charged forward, spearing him in the chest.

The Ylissean, defeated, dropped his battleaxe and collapsed against a wall.

"Mum!" Gangrel ran to Farryn, ready to hug her, but stopped when he saw a red stain spreading from around a large tear in the sleeve of her shirt. "...You're bleeding..."

Looking at her arm, Farryn sighed heavily. "So he did get me. I thought he missed." Then she gave her son an encouraging smile and took him by the hand again. "Everything will be okay, love. Now, let's go."

* * *

Annette led them to the underground passages beneath the castle town. The entrance was well-hidden and there were few who knew how to find it. It was safest place they could have been other than Plegia Castle or the Grimleal Enclave.

It was an exhausting, sleepless night, but morning eventually came. Annette went above ground first to ensure that the way out was safe, and quickly returned with news that several wyvern riders were declaring that the Ylissean invaders had all been killed or forced to flee, thanks to the Grimleal's sorcerers.

Gangrel and Farryn followed Annette back to her shop in the slums because she wanted to see how much damage had been done. Miraculously, the building was mostly untouched. They wouldn't be homeless.

However, their home was the least of their problems because, although her wound had stopped bleeding during the night, Farryn was quickly overcome by a fever and had to stay in bed. Gangrel did what he could to help her, such as putting a cloth cooled in water on her forehead, but it wasn't enough. Even Annette couldn't help.

"I'm sorry, little one," said Annette sadly. "Healing just ain't one of my specialties."

"Can't we get a doctor to come here and make Mum better?" asked Gangrel, his voice shaking.

"They won't help unless you have a lot of gold," explained the shopkeeper with a sigh. "And most of the doctors here in the city are probably too busy tending to the rich to help out us commoners."

Gangrel's face fell. "But what about Mum...?" he whimpered.

Annette pulled him in for a hug, placing a hand on his head as she said, "We'll keep her as comfortable as we can. It's the best we can do for now."

When Gangrel went back to taking care of his mother, he couldn't help but wonder if they would have had enough gold for a doctor if she had saved her money and not spent it on new clothes for him. Once he began thinking about it, he couldn't stop. It wasn't long until he thought that everything was his fault.

Days passed and Farryn's condition worsened. Her fever didn't go away and the wound on her arm became more and more infected. She would only take small sips of the water and soup that her son offered her. There were times when it seemed that she was seeing things that weren't actually there.

Gangrel hoped beyond hope that his mother would get better, but a small part of him began to accept the inevitable.

"Gangrel..."

One night, after a little over a week had passed, Gangrel had fallen asleep next to his mother on the pallet while keeping watch over her, but woke up the moment she spoke.

"Yes, Mum?"

"I'm...sorry for how much I've made you worry, love." Farryn's voice was faint and her face was pale. She was exhausted. "I should...have done better...for you."

"Mum...?"

Why was she apologizing to him?

"I...love you, Gangrel. Be good...for me," she said, smiling gently as her eyes closed and her last breath left her body.

"Mum..." said Gangrel, shaking her arm in disbelief. "Mum? Don't leave me! You can't…"

No. This couldn't be happening. His mother was supposed to get better. What had he done wrong?

Nothing. He had done nothing wrong. There was nothing he could have done in the first place.

Gangrel broke down into tears.

* * *

Author's Note:

Well, here it is. My entry for the _Brave New World Anthology_. I've been waiting so long for this to be finished that it's almost surreal for it to actually be done now.

I'm posting this in parts because I don't know how to leave well enough alone and will be adding scenes to the later parts of the story since I don't have to worry about word count limits now. There will be three parts in total. Look forward to those.

If you want to read the anthology, go to my Tumblr and you should be able to quickly find the post that has the PDF links. All the stories are amazing and you should read all of them.

Remember, feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged!

Cheers,  
Brenna Snow


	2. The War Orphan

The Ylissean army was repelled by combined might of the Plegian army and the Grimleal's sorcerers, but the fighting did not end that night. Conflict between the two nations continued as one struggled to defend itself against the attacks of the other, resulting in a war that would surely last for several years. So long as Exalt Albus XIII was alive, there would never be peace and more people would die.

It was a time of mourning.

* * *

The days that followed Farryn's death were silent and painful. Gangrel and Annette were both too heartbroken to speak, the boy staying in bed most of the time and the shopkeeper busying herself more than usual with her work.

Gangrel didn't know where his mother was buried. Annette had told him that she was placed in a grave outside the castle town, just like the many people who had also died because of the Ylisseans. He wanted to put flowers on her grave, but there were no flowers to give and he didn't know how to get there, not that his aunt would let him.

It was clear that Annette was afraid of losing him too. She rarely allowed him to leave the shop without her. She was also making plans for them to leave Plegia as soon as possible.

"Most of my family are traveling merchants," she said during one of the few times they both felt like talking. "We could go and stay with one of my aunts in Ferox. It's cold there, they say, but it would be far away from here. Then we can be free from this war..."

However, Gangrel didn't want to leave. Plegia was the only country he had ever lived in and the idea of leaving upset him. How could he visit his mother's grave if they went all the way to Ferox?

Annette could leave if she wanted, but he was going to stay.

One day, while his aunt was busy checking her inventory, Gangrel snuck out of the loft and left the shop. All he had taken with him were the new clothes his mother had given him, the special stone that once belonged to his father, and an old yellow shawl that he wore like a cape. He had no food and no money because there had not been a chance to sneak some into his pockets without Annette noticing.

But he had only been gone for a few hours when he began to regret his decision to run away. It wasn't like he was that far from home. He had only gone as far as the marketplace. He could turn around at any point and apologize for worrying his aunt, assuming she had noticed his absence.

No, he had to put more effort into running away than that! He could make it on his own. He didn't need Annette.

Unfortunately, he was very wrong about that.

All Gangrel had done was swipe a bun from the bakery, but he had been obvious enough that the baker had noticed and called after him to return the baked good before he regretted it.

Before, all that would have happened was that a couple guards would have chased after him and, if he was able to hide quickly enough, he would wait until they gave up and went back to their rounds. Then he would have been free to eat in peace. That was what he remembered the thieves doing back when he was with his mother while she peddled her wares. But that wasn't the case now. There were more guards than before because of how many people were in the castle town and he was caught before he even had a chance to flee the marketplace.

Gangrel was taken away and tossed in a cell before he could understand what was happening. His special stone was confiscated, but he was allowed to keep his clothes and shawl since he had been wearing them at the time. Otherwise, he he'd have nothing.

He had no idea where he was being kept, but he assumed it was underground. There were no windows and the air was chilly. It felt like the passages beneath the city that Annette had lead him and his mother to in order to stay safe during the attacks.

Annette…

He was a horrible child. His aunt loved him, and he gave that up because he had been too stupid to see that she wanted the best for him. Ferox was probably a perfectly fine place, but he would never get a chance to figure that out for himself. He was probably going to die in that dungeon.

* * *

Days turned into weeks, and Gangrel was still in the cell. A bowl of tasteless mush was brought to him each morning—at least, he thought it was morning—along with a bowl of water. It was enough to keep him alive but not fill his belly. That way he wouldn't have the energy to escape, so said one guard to the other at some point. Half-dead prisoners were easier to deal with.

Why were they bothering to keep him alive at all?

The answer came in the form of a tall, dark stranger.

"My, my, if it isn't the little thief I've heard about..."

Gangrel, half-asleep as he sat with his back against the wall, opened his eyes and saw the shadowy silhouette of a man, dressed in flowing robes and sun-bleached bones, with his hands behind his back.

"What is your name, child?" asked the man with a smile.

"...Gangrel…" he murmured, surprised he could speak at all.

"Do you know why you have been brought here?"

"...I...stole some...bread…"

"Is that all?" asked the man, raising an eyebrow.

"...Hm…?"

Gangrel didn't understand what the man meant. He hadn't stolen anything else.

"I said, is that all?" asked the man again. He then brought his hands out from behind his back and revealed Gangrel's special stone. "I was informed that you had this with you when you were arrested. Tell me, child, who did you steal this from?"

"...Didn't steal…"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I didn't...steal it," said Gangrel with what little force he could muster. "My...mum….gave it to...me."

"And where is your mother?"

"...Dead…" said Gangrel, his voice becoming quite again.

"My condolences," said the man, frowning. "Many children are without their mothers during troubled times such as these. Did she perish in the attack?"

For a moment, Gangrel wondered if he should be honest and explain that his mother had died of an infection, but decided against it. That was none of the man's business. It was that war priest's fault, anyway, so it wasn't a lie, really.

"...Yes…"

"I see. Very well, I will return this stone to you, but on one condition: you must come with me."

Gangrel became more confused. What could the strange man want with him?

"Why? What...will happen...if I don't?"

The man's smile became wider. "You will atone for your sins with your life."

Atone?

So he was kept alive in order to be executed. He had thought that only murderers and the like were put to death for their crimes, but it seemed that any crime was punishable with death now.

He didn't want to die.

"Okay," Gangrel said, looking the man in the eyes. "I'll go."

"Excellent," responded the man with a nod of approval. "Now, sleep and regain your strength. I will explain everything when you awaken." He then extended a hand, which was emitting a faint purple light, toward Gangrel and uttered words that the boy couldn't understand.

Suddenly, Gangrel felt sleepy, and, before he could say anything more, he passed out.

* * *

Gangrel awoke laying on something as soft as he imaged a cloud would be. In truth, it was simply the mattress of a four poster bed with velvet curtains and soft linens. He had never slept or even sat on something as nice as this before, so it was quite the surprise.

Moreover, he wondered how he had gotten there in the first place.

Before he had a chance to explore the room, which was big and decorated with fancy furniture, tapestries, and rugs, the door opened and an elderly man in the robes of a Fell Priest entered.

"Ah, good morning, Lord Gangrel. I hope you slept well?"

"Uh..." Gangrel was taken aback by the title, but went along with what the old man had said instead of asking any of the many questions bouncing around in his head. "Yeah, I did."

"Good, good. Now, it is time to get ready. The Hierophant wishes to speak with you."

The Hierophant? What did the leader of the Grimleal want with him? What did he do? Did this have to do with the strange man from the dungeon?

"Um, what do I have do to get ready?"

"Why, you must bathe and dress appropriately. It would not do to have an audience with anyone as you are now. Ah, and you must eat as well."

As nice as a hot bath and clean clothes sounded, Gangrel was more excited about getting food.

"Okay…" Gangrel climbed off the bed, but had to quickly grab hold of the nightstand to keep himself from falling over.

"Do you require assistance?" asked the old man, concerned.

"I-I'm fine," he insisted, determined to get from the bed to the table in the middle of the room by himself. "Just do what you were doing."

"As you wish." The old man bowed and went to see to the preparations.

After a lot of stumbling and nearly falling over once, Gangrel managed to take a seat at the table and watched as two acolytes, women this time, heated the water for his bath and filled the tub in the small bathroom adjoined to the bedroom. Then, one of them laid out clothing for him to change into after his bath. Meanwhile, the other brought him a bowl of rice stewed in vegetables and chicken and a glass of water.

He had no idea of what to think about any of this.

"Milord," said one of the acolytes after everything was ready, "we will leave you to eat and prepare yourself for you audience with the Hierophant. Do you require anything else?"

"No, I'm fine," said Gangrel, not taking his eyes away from the food as he spoke. He was so hungry.

The acolytes curtsied and took their leave.

Gangrel really had no idea of what to think about any of this.

First he woke up in a fancy room. Then the priest and acolytes were talking to him as if he was someone important, like a noble. What was next? Oh, yeah, he had to meet with the Hierophant.

It was a lot to think about and he didn't know where to start, so he decided to focus on getting ready like the old man had said to do.

After he finished his meal, Gangrel cleaned and dressed himself as best he could, glad to be free of dirt and grime for the first time in weeks. However, he was also sad because the clothes that his mother had given him were ruined. They were so stained that he wasn't sure whether it was possible to clean them.

Just then, he heard the door open and the old man entered.

"Lord Gangrel, are you ready?"

"Yes." He turned around to face the old man while holding his dirty clothes. "Can these be washed?"

"Let me see…" The old man stepped forward and took a closer look. "I think they are beyond the point of being salvaged. They will have to be disposed of."

"They will?"

"Yes," said the old man with a nod. "Now, just leave them here and they will be taken care of while you are gone. We must get going."

Gangrel nodded and dropped his clothes on the ground in a heap. He then stepped over them as he went to follow the old man.

* * *

After leading Gangrel down several marble corridors and stairways, the old man stopped outside a set of double doors, black in colour and bearing the Eyes of Grima, and gestured for him to enter the room.

"Do I have to go in by myself?" asked Gangrel, suddenly feeling nervous.

The old man simply nodded.

The room was immense yet dimly lit, the only light coming from the evening sun shining through the stained glass window, which depicted the Fell Dragon, across from the doors. It was richly decorated with rugs and tapestries on the floor and walls, bookshelves all around, and a large desk in front of the window.

Seated at the desk was the tall, dark man. He was resting his elbows on the desk and his chin on his hands. It seemed that he had been expecting Gangrel.

"You're the Hierophant?" Gangrel blurted out, unable to stop himself.

"I am indeed," the man replied, smiling. "However, I would prefer that you call me Validar."

"A-as you wish," said Gangrel, doing his best to sound respectful.

"No need to be nervous, child. Please, sit, and we shall discuss something of importance."

Gangrel crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite Validar, feeling very small compared to the Hierophant. This was not the place for a child like him. He didn't belong there.

"Do you know where we are?" asked Validar.

Gangrel shook his head.

"We are in the Grimleal Enclave, the home of the Hierophant—that is, myself—and the Fell Circle. And, as of now, it is your home as well."

Gangrel's eyebrows went up and his jaw went slack. "Why...?"

"Plegia is in need of a new ruler and I think you would be a suitable candidate."

"Huh?" he asked, dumbstruck.

Validar chuckled at his confusion, and said, "This nation and its people can only survive if it follows the path laid before it by the stars and planets. That is its fate."

"But why me?"

"I once spoke with an oracle who claimed that a red-haired youth with fire in his eyes would be the one to lead Plegia to a new age." Validar leaned forward in his chair. "And looking at you, I can see more than fire. Instead, I see lightning."

"What does that mean?"

"Your determination will know no bounds. That is a good trait to have." Validar rose from his seat and turned away from Gangrel to look through the window. The room had become even dimmer since the sun set lower. "King Salvador is a foolish man. He thinks that the Exalt can be reasoned with, but we all know that the brutish ruler of Ylisse would rather slaughter us all than see reason."

"But what does this have to do with me?" said Gangrel, standing up as well. "I'm just a kid! I don't know how to rule anything!"

Oracles? Lighting? Determination? None of it made sense.

Suddenly, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, Validar was standing before Gangrel and glaring down at him.

"Should I have left you in that dungeon to rot, child?" he snarled. "I had thought that you would be clever enough to take this opportunity without hesitation. You will have power and prestige beyond anything you could have hoped to attain on your own. This is a gift that the gods give rarely."

Gangrel stepped away from the man, stumbled, and fell back into his seat. He was too afraid to speak. He was scared of what he thought Validar was going to do to him.

But Validar didn't do anything. Instead, he let out a low laugh and said, "Perhaps I am expecting too much from you, child. Your life is changing faster than you can comprehend and, in my selfishness, I have asked you, a poor orphan, to rule a kingdom. It must be a terrifying thought..."

While Validar was speaking, Gangrel had calmed down, but he still felt uneasy.

Gangrel wanted to refuse Validar. He desperately wanted to go home and be with Annette again, but there was no way that was going to happen. The Hierophant would never allow him to leave, unless it involved going back to the dungeon to die. There was only one option for him to take.

"I'll do it," he mumbled. "I'll be a good king."

"Excellent." Validar walked around his desk reached into the drawer to retrieve a dark red stone. Gangrel's special stone. "As I promised, here is the stone that your mother gave you. May your actions as our future monarch make her proud."

Gangrel reached for the stone and, once it was in his hands, clutched it to his chest like his life depended on it.

"Now, it is time for you to return to your quarters. We will discuss what needs to be done tomorrow."

* * *

The elderly priest from before was the one to return Gangrel to his room, leaving the boy there for the rest of the night after making sure that his needs were tended to and bidding him a good night.

However, the room, which had seemed so nice when Gangrel first woke up, now scared him. It felt too big and empty and almost everything was in shadow because sun had set and the lamps were not lit. Not knowing what else to do, Gangrel crawled into bed and hid beneath the covers, hoping that he would be safe there.

Sleep did not come easy for him that night. The only thing that kept him calm was his special stone, which glowed faintly in the darkness and felt warm in his hands. And he was never going to part with it again. It was all he had left to remember his mother. It was all he had left to remember his old life.

* * *

Author's Note:

Heyo! Thanks for the review, follow, and faves last chapter.

The third and last chapter will be posted on March 16, which happens to be Gangrel's birthday. Isn't it awesome when things work out so nicely?

Remember, feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged! Seriously, don't be afraid to leave a review. It would make my day if you left one.

Cheers,  
Brenna Snow

P.S. Also, for those who are wondering "The heck is up with that rock?" and are cool with the idea of F!Robin/Gangrel, go check out _Here Be Dragons: Memento Mori_. It's the first part of a trilogy I'm planning. It's also part of an overarching AU I'm developing. See my profile for more details.


	3. The Child King

One winter night, Exalt Albus XIII of Ylisse died.

News of his passing traveled throughout the three nations of Ylisse and across the sea to the continent of Valm. Everyone, from the poor in the slums to the nobles in their manors, knew that the warmongering man was gone and that his place would soon be taken by Emmeryn, his eldest daughter, a girl who was still barely more than a child.

It was a time of uncertainty.

* * *

Gangrel felt trapped.

It had been almost a year since Validar had offered him a chance at the Plegian throne, but the idea of becoming king was becoming less and less appealing the longer he remained under the watchful gaze of the Hierophant.

Gangrel had initially accepted the offer because Validar had threatened him into doing so, but he had also tried to think of what he could do as the King of Plegia that no one else before him could in order to remain hopeful during an otherwise gloomy situation.

He had learned that he would be the first commoner to become the King of Plegia. All of the men previously elected by the Fell Circle had been nobles with close ties to the Grimleal. That meant that Gangrel would understand the common people's needs and wants better than his predecessors because he had once been one himself. He could give them the help they needed.

That was was he told himself, but he knew that he wasn't going to get him very far if he didn't understand the needs and wants of the nobles as well. In fact, he didn't understand a lot of things.

His lack of understanding was why Validar had decided that he must dedicate himself to studying and training in order to become a competent ruler. In time, the only people that Gangrel regularly saw were the tutors who taught him how to read and write, among other things, the instructors he had for horseback riding and swordplay, and Validar himself, who lectured him on topics that changed from day to day.

On the upside, Gangrel was learning things that he would never have had the chance to before. On the downside, he was usually tired and sore during his free time and had to stay in his room when he wasn't having an outdoor lesson. It was tedious, but he did as Validar ordered. It was all he could do. There was no way out.

Or was there?

Seated on his bed, Gangrel looked up from the book of fairy tales that he was attempting to read and glanced at the window. It was open to let in fresh air. It was also large enough for him to fit through.

Setting down the book, he got off the bed and went over to the window. When he poked his head out and looked down, he saw a ledge that seemed like it would be wide enough for him to stand on. And when he glanced to the side, he saw that the ledge lead to part of the roof.

If he was careful, he could get to the roof and back without anyone noticing. All he wanted was some time out of his room to be by himself. Was that so much to ask? Also, why had he never thought of doing this before?

Gangrel climbed onto the windowsill and started to set his foot on the ledge, but was caught off guard by the sound of the door opening.

"What are you doing?!"

Startled, he twisted around to see who had screamed. It was a girl with silver hair and dark skin. Unfortunately, that was all he had a chance to see because his foot slipped off the ledge, making him lose his grip on the windowsill, and he fell back.

The last thought Gangrel had before the world went black was that he never realized just how terrifying falling could be until that moment.

* * *

"Wake up!"

Gangrel awoke to find that he was on his bed. The girl from before was looking down at him fretfully, her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

Had he just had a nightmare?

"Where am I?" he asked groggily.

"In your room, you stupid boy!" spat the girl. "What you were thinking? Why were you trying to climb out the window?"

Well, never mind, then.

Gangrel looked away from her and at the window. It was closed. "Why does it matter?"

The girl scowled at him, her hands on her hips. "I was sent here by the priests who oversee your education. They said you were in need of a companion, but I had no idea that you were mad!"

Sitting up, Gangrel shook his head to wake himself up. "And who're you?"

"My name is Aversa. I am an acolyte who is studying to become a sorceress. And you," she said, pointing at him, "are Gangrel, a foolish boy with a death wish."

Huh. So she knew his name already? That was fine. Everyone else in that place seemed to so it was normal for him at that point.

But that wasn't important.

What was important was that he was there, in his room, and not a bloody mess on the ground. The thought of it was so surreal that Gangrel almost didn't believe it. Aversa being the last thing he saw before his supposed fall was the only proof he had that he had nearly died.

"How am I not dead?"

While asking the question, he finally took a good look at Aversa. Just as he remembered, her hair was silver and her skin was a bit darker than his, but now he could see that her eyes were dark brown. She also wore a black outfit with purple and gold designs that was similar to his, although hers was a dress and not pants and a shirt.

Seriously, what was with the Grimleal and those colours? They used them for everything. It was a bit much, really.

"I used my magic to catch you in midair."

"Oh, okay."

"Is that all you have to say to the one who saved you?" demanded Aversa, jabbing him in the chest with her finger.

"You were also the one who made me fall," Gangrel said flatly.

Aversa looked livid now. "What an ungrateful brat you are!"

Gangrel didn't respond, and instead looked away from her and back at the window.

He made a foolish decision and should have faced the consequences, but he didn't. He should be dead, but he wasn't. Was it a coincidence that Aversa showed up when she did and saved him? Or was it fate?

After a moment, he turned to her and asked, "Do you believe in destiny or fate or whatever?"

"I do," she responded, her tone curious now.

"I was told I'm destined to rule Plegia, but I don't know if I can." Tears formed at the corners of Gangrel's eyes and his throat started to hurt. "I didn't want this. I never wanted this."

"So you are the boy that the priests speak of," said Aversa, her voice becoming gentle. "I heard that the Hierophant himself chose you because he knows of your future."

"But what if he's wrong?"

"As the one who leads the Grimleal and speaks on the behalf of the Fell Dragon, how could he be wrong?"

"I don't know…" he said, sniffling.

If his fate was already set in stone, did that mean that his mother's had been, too? If so, then there really wasn't anything he could have done back then to save her. She had been doomed to die.

"Embrace your destiny, Gangrel... All you have to do is follow the path before you."

Gangrel froze as Aversa leaned forward and hugged him. It had been so long since anyone had held him. He missed it.

The tears that he had been holding back started to run down his cheeks, but he was silent as he rested his head on Aversa's shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, clinging to her with trembling hands.

* * *

Gangrel wasn't the same after the fall. Being up in high places made him nervous and he kept imagining what would happen if he fell again. He stood as far away from railings as possible. Balconies and open windows were avoided. Being on a horse was too much sometimes.

However, that day was also the first time that Gangrel had anything close to a friend.

Aversa claimed that she had been told to spend time with him, but the way she kept watch over him seemed more out of concern than anything else. It was like she expected him to do something stupid again and felt obligated to stop him. However, she also made a point of showing him interesting things, such as the pegasi in the stables, or taking him to unusual places, like the dark magic section of the library, within the Grimleal Enclave, so being with her wasn't that bad.

Even if she was cheeky and a teased him at any given moment, Gangrel was happy to be with her. It was better than being lonely again. And it wasn't long until they began to rub off on each other, although it was obvious that he was becoming more like her than the other way around.

"Surely you can do better than that?"

"This is harder than you think!"

"And yet I can cast more difficult spells than this," said Aversa, crossing her arms and looking down at Gangrel, who was holding the dark magic spellbook that she had given him. "This is child's play."

"Not all of us can be geniuses, you know?" retorted Gangrel, scowling. All he had said was that the Hierophant thought he had the potential for dark magic, and she had jumped on what she thought was an opportunity to give him a crash course on the subject. "They already have me learning how to fight with swords, so why should I have to learn how to do this? I suck at it!"

"Believe me, I know, but try again anyway." Aversa gave him a wink. "You're too determined—or should I say stubborn—to give up this quickly, after all."

"Fine…" Gangrel turned back to facing the fighting dummy that they had set up in the training yard. The few somewhat successful attempts at casting a spell had only managed to hit the ground around it and not the dummy itself. "Flux!"

Magical energy surged through the air around him and an orb of dark light formed in front of him, growing in size, before it shot forward and struck the fighting dummy, completely destroying it.

"Ha! So you do have some magical talent after all," cheered Aversa.

So it seemed, but Gangrel had no idea it would leave him feeling so strange. He had always imagined that magic would feel warm, however, it was actually quite cold and casting a successful spell sent a chill through him. Also, he felt a rush of excitement that made him want to do it again. It made him wonder what it be like to use it on a person instead of a fighting dummy.

Gangrel dropped the book and walked away. "Nope. That's all I'm doing. I prefer swords."

"What?" asked Aversa, shocked. "But if you practice more, you could—"

"Aversa, knock it off!" He turned around to shout at her. "I don't want to do this anymore!"

"What is your problem, Gangrel?" She shouted back. "The pain we've suffered in life has left darkness in our hearts. Why not use it to get what we want?"

Something about the way Aversa had said that reminded him of Validar, which made him even more nervous. Were all dark magic users like that? Would he be like that if he studied dark magic more?

"It scares me."

"Your own power scares you?"

"Yes."

"Hm!" Aversa let out an amused sound. "I'm sure you'll accept it eventually. You'll need all the power you can get once you become king, after all."

Gangrel frowned, but nodded his head in agreement. "You're right, but I'll think of a different way."

"Why not a magic sword?" she suggested. "I hear there are swords that can channel anima magic. Thunder magic, specifically."

"Really?" he asked, curious. "One of those would be fine, I think. It sounds pretty cool, actually."

Aversa smirked. "I knew it would interest you. And I'm sure your training master wouldn't object to you using one. Come on, let's ask him now." She then took him by the hand and lead him away from the training yard and the smoking remains of the training dummy.

* * *

Years passed, and Gangrel grew up to be a willful and ambitious young man. He was determined to study whatever Validar deemed appropriate for a future king, from politics and law to warfare and rhetoric. He would do whatever it took to take the throne and keep it.

"It is time, Gangrel. Are you ready to claim your destiny?"

"Yes."

"Very good."

It was the night before Gangrel's fifteenth birthday, and Validar had called him into his private office. The boy was seated while the Hierophant was standing. And between them, on the desk, was an ornate dagger on a silken pillow.

Validar was giving this dagger to Gangrel, not as a gift, but as a means to take what was his.

"Tonight you will leave the Grimleal Enclave and go to Plegia Castle," instructed Validar. "There will be no one to stop you from disposing of that weak king who no longer deserves the throne that I so graciously placed him on. I have ensured this."

The walk to Plegia Castle was silent and lonely. There was no one in sight, not even a guard or two. Validar had truly meant it when he had said that the way would be clear.

Gangrel had never been in Plegia Castle before, but he followed the instructions that Validar had given him, which eventually led him to the royal bedchambers. Inside, a man was asleep on a magnificent bed. It was King Salvador of Plegia.

After the passing of her late father, Exalt Emmeryn had extended an offer to King Salvador. She wanted them to work together so that there would be peace between Ylisse and Plegia. True peace, she claimed. But Plegians didn't want peace. No, they wanted the Ylisseans to suffer like they had.

And Gangrel would be the one to put an end to the stupidity.

He held the dagger above the king's throat. All it would take was one good cut to sever the veins and slice open the windpipe. Then the king would be dead in no time at all.

If only his hand would stop shaking.

Gangrel had wanted to hire an assassin, but Validar had insisted on it being this way. In truth, the royal line of succession in Plegia was bloodier than he could have ever imagined. Once a king was placed on the throne, he was expected to rule until he died. However, natural deaths were rare.

As much as King Salvador tried to pass himself off as a good and righteous man who only wanted peace, he had killed his predecessor as well, and now it was his turn to die by Gangrel's hand.

Taking a calming breath, Gangrel steeled himself and forced himself to do what needed to be done.

And with that, King Salvador of Plegia was dead.

* * *

"By the name of the Fell Dragon, I now proclaim Gangrel, First of His Name, King of the Theocracy of Plegia! Long may he reign!"

Gangrel stood stiffly as Validar placed the golden crown atop his head and looked out at the immense crowd of dignitaries who had come to witness his coronation. Every seat within the Temple of Grima was taken and many people were standing. All eyes were on him.

"Long may he reign!" responded the crowd in unison.

It was like a dream. An amazing, frightening dream. He had been working towards this goal for five years and it was finally happening. It was almost too good to be true.

"Gangrel, pay attention or you'll miss your own celebration."

Pulled out of his thoughts by Aversa pinching his cheek, Gangrel swatted her away and let out an indignant huff.

"You would dare you treat your king in such a way?" he sneered, although his tone was playful.

Aversa, smirking, curtsied and pleaded, "Please forgive my actions, King Gangrel."

Gangrel made a show of thinking it over before he said, "Very well, Aversa, but do that again and I'll have no choice but to pinch you back."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Aversa with a giggle.

After the coronation ceremony in the Temple of Grima, Gangrel was taken back to Plegia Castle where he would address the commonfolk from the balcony as their King. Aversa had been there for the ceremony and was now there to support him when he gave the public address. It made the idea of standing before hundreds of people and looking down from a high place a bit less terrifying.

"Thank you for being here, Aversa," he said.

"You're welcome, Gangrel. Now, a brave new world awaits you, my King," said Aversa, gesturing toward the entrance of the balcony. "Go and greet your subjects."

Taking a deep breath, Gangrel nodded and stepped forward, preparing himself for the unified voices of the peasants down in the courtyard. They were already calling out his name.

His mother's stone in his pocket gave him courage. He would not let his fears, irrational or otherwise, ruin this moment. He would accept his fate and follow the path that was laid out before him. He would be a king that history remembered.

"The King is dead, long live The King! Hail King Gangrel! Long live The King!"

* * *

Author's Note:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GANGREL!

Heyo! Thanks again to everyone I got to work with on the _Brave New Worth Anthology_ and to everyone who took the time to read my story. This has been a great experience and I look forward to participating in more fan fiction events in the future.

I had originally wanted to add another scene or two to this chapter, but ended liking what I had written, so I posted it as is. Perhaps one day I'll think of extra things to add and will edit it then. We'll see.

Remember, feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged. Please, if you haven't left a review yet, now is the time. I'm ready and waiting!

Cheers,  
Brenna Snow

P.S. This story is getting a sequel titled _Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely_. When will I start writing it? Probably not until I'm done school and have more free time, but look forward to it!


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